


Checkpoints

by thisloveisradiant



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M, That's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisloveisradiant/pseuds/thisloveisradiant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They knew this was a dream from the start. Escape it? That was another story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Side Yata

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is written for onedayK: Dreams, and has 2 chapters.

 

_\-------------------------------------------------_

_“Oh, hello there, boys~”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Yata knew this was a dream right from the start.

“Ah, welcome home, Misaki!”

“You’re finally home, big brother!”

The sight was familiar, though the greeting was little over the top. Warm and bright house, arms wrapping around his shoulders and legs in two affectionate hugs, happy laughter directed at him.

Yeah, he was dreaming. Just a hunch, he would say, but he was sure. Because, for a moment, a thought popped up in his head - _“Oh, right, my family. I belong here, don’t I?”_

And that was impossible.

Yata wondered how he had gotten to this point. When had he felt this way toward his own family? Where was the turning point? The gentle face of his mother didn't change and the childish grin of his siblings didn't change, but it didn't feel right - no, didn't feel right at all to be here, even though it wasn't their fault at all. Yata knew, as much of an idiot as he was, for him to feel that he belonged in his own home was something unimaginable. He didn't know why, but...being embraced by his mother and his little sister like this...he didn't deserve it.

Wasn't that right?

“Misaki? What’s wrong? You’re spacing out. Are you tired?” His mother looked at him in confusion, though she didn’t loosen her hug at all as if she was demanding a physical response. Megumi stared at him from where the girl was clinging to his legs, clearly wanting to be picked up. Minoru clutched at his sleeves, insistently trying to pull him into the house.

It felt like a trap, somehow, so Yata only shook himself out of their hug, afraid to even raise his hands. Still, he cracked a genuine little smile. “Sorry. No, I’m fine. It’s been a while, but I’m home, mom, Minoru, Megumi.”

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“You’ve found me sooner than I thought.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Everything passed by in a blur, and before Yata knew it, he was standing in the living room alone. The sounds from the kitchen implied that his family was busy cooking in there, leaving him here to have a brief rest.

The room looked the same as when he had left 4 years ago. Of course, since this was made up from his memories after all. Open windows took in sunlight and refreshing wind. Recycled table fans, lamps and garnitures were placed here and there. The walls were pasted with childish colourful drawings of flowers, cats, cars and robots. Many personal things lay around - sports magazines, family albums, toys, comic books. How nostalgic, yet at the same time he knew that his house, in reality, probably wouldn’t look like this anymore.

Yata flopped down his usual spot on the couch. It should be comfortable, but somehow the whole deal set him on edge.   

“I’m glad to see you, Misaki.” A low voice called out, making Yata secretly cringe a little bit. He turned around, facing his stepfather with a strained smile.

“… Dad.”

One day, if Yata found the right words, he might be able to admit to himself how exactly he felt about this man whose name was shared with him but not blood. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his stepfather, of course, but the truth was essentially more complicated than that. And, admittedly, more ridiculous than most people might think.

“How have you been these last 4 years?”

“Nothing much. Overall, I’m doing fine, I guess.” Yata answered in uneasiness, which was kind of pathetic when he thought about it, actually.

The man smiled and patted Yata’s head, very kindly so. “I see. That’s good to hear. You’ve grown up to be a fine man, haven’t you?”

Trying to subtly avoid the touch, Yata shrugged. He wouldn’t say that. Then again, it was useless to argue.

“Alright, take a good rest now. I’ll help everyone cook your favourite dish. Fried rice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Heh, Yata snorted. What an ideal world this was. His real stepfather never knew about his favourite dish. Not that it mattered.

He quietly watched his family prepare dinner, feeling increasingly restless as time went on. His parents looked happy, his siblings played around with all of their chirpiness. A perfect picture of an ordinary loving family, which Yata’s explosive personality didn’t fit in very well - he was a destructive yet oblivious child, he long had had a knack that someday he would get into all kinds of troubles. While everyone was living their everyday lives earnestly together, somehow, it felt like he was disturbing their harmony just by simply existing in this house.

Yata remembered the night when he had secretly packed his stuff and had sneaked out of the house with Saruhiko waiting for him at the door. Guilt ripping him inside but determination keeping him going, Yata whispered apologies to the open air and hoped the winds carried them to his mother’s sharp ears. The pressure of the new life had been devastating, yet he had actually felt a little relieved.

Saruhiko needed him, it’d be okay. Homra was dangerous business so it’s best to protect his family by cutting connects with them, it’d be okay. They didn’t really need him anymore... So, it’d be okay.

He kept making up excuses and never came back home, for years. Talk about a bad child.

“Dinner time, Misaki! Do you want extra pineapples in your rice?” His mother smiled.

Ah, really, now. What was he even doing here?

“No thank, mom. It’s fine.” Biting his lip, Yata vaguely wondered just when this long dream would end.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“After all this time, this is the first time you two come together, so congratulations.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

“Misaki, hug me!”

“…What?” Yata groggily opened his eyes to see Megumi jumping up and down in front of him. For whatever reasons, every inch of his body hurt like hell. “How odd. You don’t feel pain in your dream, isn’t that what everyone says?” Then again, you don’t fall asleep in one, either.

“Er?”

“Nothing. Why did you wake me, Megumi?”

“You went to bed before me! But I can’t sleep if I don’t get a Goodnight hug!” The little girl laughed cheerfully. “Hug! Hug! Kiss!”

It shouldn’t have made Yata frown, but it did. He felt irritated all of a sudden, though not because of his little sister’s requests. He had done them before, when he had still been a good big brother to her. A hug after the bed story, a kiss on the forehead for a wish of good dreams to come, a reassuring promise that said he would be beside her first thing in the morning.

But time and life pushed him forward mercilessly and he continued to grow and drift away from those simple happiness. He had gone for far too long, to the point he had almost forgot because he might as well already be forgotten.

And it wasn’t fair at all to just redeem himself to this Megumi now, who was merely a fraction of his own imagination. He probably didn’t even had the right.

“Sorry, Megumi. Next time, okay?” Yata prayed that he really was smiling properly, even when his sister’s smile dropped into a tearful expression. No, not real, he repeated in his head, whatever this was, it slowly became more like a cruel test than anything else.

“When will be the next time, brother?”

“I don’t know.” He would like to know, too.

“If I hug you, will you hug me back?”

Yata found it unbearably hard to answer that question. So he didn’t.

Megumi cried, and everything went blurry again.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“It has been nice, playing hide-and-seek with you.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

This must be how it felt like to walk on a tightrope at fifty feet high. No security straps, no mattress on the ground, no balancing pole. There wasn’t even an audience, and if there was one they would have eagerly screamed for the moment his feet slipped.

That was what Yata thought when the door of his room suddenly opened, and stood there idly was a very familiar, familiar boy.

Saruhiko, hair down and collar fold, looking almost as young and gentle as the middle school Saruhiko that Yata missed so much.  

"Saru?" He breathed the name, unable to believe his eyes. "Why are you here?"

"Why the funny face? I can't visit your house?" Saruhiko raised an eyebrow mockingly, so like him, but definitely not him at all. "I'm your best friend, after all."

"You're not."

Yata covered his mouth right after he realized what he was saying. Too bitter, too harsh, his own words hurt him more than the bone-crushing bite that he was inflicting on his fingers right now.

"I...am not?" Hurt, Saruhiko's voice sounded so hurt and pained and full of open emotion and yes, this was a dream, no, certainly not Saruhiko. Absolutely not real, especially when the taller's slender body pressing close to him in a reassuring hug. "What's wrong, Misaki? Don’t you feel well? Is something wrong? Tell me, you know I'll always be by your side.”

"Liar." Yata closed his eyes, curled his fingers into tight fists, and refused to lean into the warmth. "You spill nothing but fucking packs of lies!”

“That’s not true. You are very important to me.” The sensation of feathery touches felt like Saruhiko was drawing a masterpiece on his back. “Don’t you believe me?”

“No! The last time I did, things didn’t go well for me, did it?” Yata tried to swallow the lump in his throat, only to choke on dry air. Wanting, yearning, the feelings deep in his heart that should have been sealed a long time ago were now thrashing around violently like a caged demon. He put a hand on his chest, worried that his ribs would physically break apart.

“I’m sorry.”

Yata opened his eyes with a startle when he sensed Saruhiko’s head resting on his shoulder, hands wandering from their previous position to offer more soothing touches. The thin fingers brushed his hair, caressed his tense neck, stroke his tired eyes, ever so lovingly.

Yata spat out a bitter laugh. What a fitting dream he was having. It was just oh so tempting, ever from the beginning to now.

But, this kind of illusional happiness healed _nothing_. He refused to accept it.

“Shut the fuck up, monkey.” And with that, Yata hurled the taller boy off him and straight into the wall.

He heard something break. A sharp, crisp sound, like the cracking of an expensive glass. Somehow, it sounded even more sickening than Saruhiko’s bone-shattering painful scream.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“However, it’s actually a little annoying, you know?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

“You’re a little too stubborn for your own good, aren’t you, Yata-chan?”

The setting had changed, but the dream continued. Or something worse. Yata was pretty sure this was a nightmare, and an unusual one at that. What a mess. His head hurt.

“What, Homra this time?” He took a quick look at his surroundings. Sure enough, he was sitting on his favourite chair in front of the bar counter, facing Kusanagi who gazed at him fondly. All the weird decorations were in the same place as he remembered them, all lively and sparkling. His comrades were joking loudly around the big table. Anna was reading “Alice in wonderland” on the couch, accompanied by Kamamoto who was explaining the plot to her.

There was only one thing that was different.

Saruhiko, playing with his PDA in the corner.

( _But not different enough, or rather, too familiar to the point of irritating, but who was he kidding, such a thing like this would never happen again.)_

“Why are you still HERE?” Yata barked, slamming the countertop as he stood up furiously. “Fucking _traitor!”_

“The hell are you going on about, Misaki?” The boy in mentioned raised an eyebrow. “That’s no way to call your comrade.”

“So you are my _comrade_ now, huh? How fucking funny!” That word stung his tongue. He had always wanted to hear Saruhiko saying it, but _not like this._ It brought no relief, only a false sense of yearning that had long been hopelessly distorted. “Let’s not play this game. You aren’t Saruhiko, dream or not. And don’t stain Homra with your existence, shitty traitor! Disappear!”

“Oh Misaki, why the stupid accusation? I’m no traitor whatsoever.” Saruhiko sighed, but his voice was full of open affection. “I’m your partner, did you forget? I remember I saved your back just yesterday.”

“Go away! You are not damn real! ”

Face partially covered by the long side bang, Saruhiko offered a lazy smile. “I’m as real as everything you see in this bar.”

Kusanagi coughed, trying to get his attention. “Uhm, what’s wrong, Yata-chan? Fushimi has always been with us, hasn’t he? You two are Homra’s prideful vanguards who a--”

“THAT’S NOT IT!” Yata screamed, ears buried in hands. “It was like that a long time ago, but I know, I KNOW it won’t ever be the same again! I don’t give a damn about the past anymore! Shut up! SHUT UP! And none of this is rea--!”

“Kid.” Suddenly, he felt a strong arm wrapping around his waist while the other roughly peeled his hands off. “What’re you making such a big fuss for?”

“M-Mikoto-san!? But…!?” He glanced at the person standing next to the king. “Even Totsuka-san!?”

_(But you had gone. Up in the blazing fire, down by a cold sword. Gone, and everyone was left alone in a broken world.)_

“We’re all here.” Mikoto smiled lightly. “Isn’t this what you want?”  

Yata stood still. What he… wanted?

Here he was, in Homra’s base, surrounded by his precious comrades, standing between Mikoto and Saruhiko – his two most important people, and they were both smiling at him. Yes, everything he needed and wanted and longed for. He would never get this fulfilling happiness in reality unless he broke every single law imaginable of the whole universe.

“I don’t…”  Throat dry, Yata felt like he was falling apart like an old crumbled statue. “This is the place I feel most happy, but…”

Totsuka petted his head. “It’s okay, everything will be fine! We love you dearly just the way you are, Yata, so don’t be afraid.”

Mikoto’s hold on him got a little tighter, like a silent encouragement. Anna came up next to him and held his hand, a smile dancing on her normally doll-like face.

“Yeah.” Saruhiko joined in with a little laugh, bumping a fist against Yata’s  collarbone right where his Homra tattoo was. “I’m with you. And we will topple over the world for Mikoto-san’s sake, that’s our dream, right?”

Something about that was completely wrong, but Yata couldn’t think anymore as he fell down on his knees, crying in a mess of conflicted feelings. His headache consumed him again, everything in his body started spinning, and he wanted to vomit the pain that was crushing his organs out.

No more. Please, no more.

 _What’s this madness?_   

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Not to mention it gets a little boring by now.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Each time Yata was greeted with a smile and a hug, he knew he was falling a little deeper. Despite knowing he would be hurt, he couldn’t turn away.

But he hadn’t given in, either. Yata didn’t know why he tried so hard to reject every single ounce of affection he received in this world, the old excuse of “it’s not real” wasn’t enough to explain his nauseous feeling. A voice rang so clearly in his head that if he were to let it consume him, it’d be the end.

The end of…what, that was another crooked mystery.

And, as his stubborn rejection went on, the dream got blurrier and darker, and the people began to get more direct.

“Enough of this foolishness already, Misaki.” Saruhiko glared at him from the floor, where Yata had just kicked the guy down from his bed. “Why you must always get your panties in a twist for no reason?”

“You snuck into my bed, bastard.” Yata scowled. “I told you, get the fuck away from me!”

“Nah.” Saruhiko only smirked and held up his arms invitingly. “I love you.”

“Why, thank. I sure can feel the love pouring out of your cold stony heart all those years when you betrayed Homra and mocked me every time we met, fucking mad blue dog.” Those were the only arms he wanted to lean into, and Yata laughed mockingly at himself for realizing that now. “I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“ _You_ make me hate you.”

“I do? Really, now? If anything, all I have ever wanted is for you to love me. Which you do, idiot.” Saruhiko chuckled. It was a sound too sweet to be true. “Stop saying such a nonsensical thing, Misaki. This isn’t like you.”

“Then what is _like me?”_ Yata’s eyes went wide with something akin to indignation, hot blood rushing. “This is who I am! Someone who is fine with doing reckless and foolish things, who often says words that shouldn’t be said, who doesn’t like to be blatantly lied to. You said I’m not being myself? Even though you know nothing about me at all!”

“Wrong. I know you the most.” With an easy smile, Saruhiko tapped on Yata’s chest, the spot just a little under his Homra tattoo. “I can hear what your heart is truly screaming, loudly and clearly. Something you refuse to even acknowledge. Do you know what it is?”

Yata didn’t know what he was more afraid of, to hear the answer or to never hear it. Right at this moment, he was nothing but a mess. Everything he felt was a contradiction of itself, and he did not understand any of it.

“No.”

“Do you want me to spell it out for you, then?” Bright laughter, not recognizable at all.

“No, god damn it, just…just leave me alone!”

Saruhiko said it anyway. “‘Give me love’. It’s what you want to cry from the bottom of your heart. Ah, and ‘don’t leave me’, that too.”

Warm, soft lips kissed his forehead, all that Yata could think of was…

“ _Oh.”_

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“How about we play a new game?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

“Smile for a picture, Yata, Fushimi!” Totsuka gave him a wink, camera in hands as always. “I want to have more happy pictures of us all on the bar’s walls!”

Yata glanced at the collection of the already hanged photos. Captured smiles, cheerful moments - precious memories. Looking at how far they had travelled together and all it had taken to get there, he couldn’t help but smile.

Saruhiko took that chance to throw an arm over his shoulders, turning them both to the waiting camera.

“1, 2, and…3! Gottcha!” The camera snapped a small crispy sound, accompanied by Totsuka’s fond giggle. “Oh, I caught a nice one! You two look very happy!”

“Uh-huh.” Saruhiko waved a hand nonchalantly, but his eyes shone in the way Yata had only ever seen a few times when they were together in middle school. “Sure looking through the pink lens makes your view on life a little sweeter, huh, Totsuka-san?”

“It’s not pink!”

“Your eyes are, then.”

“Rude, Fushimi!”

What a weird sight, seeing these two bickering like old friends. But, maybe…it wasn’t so bad, like this?

Yata shook his head. All these things were just cleverly playing with the strings of his heart as if they were some sort of cursed instrument. He coughed, trying to gain the courage he desperately needed.

“Say, Totsuka-san, Saruhiko.” He looked into Totsuka’s eyes, turned to Saruhiko, and finally asked the nagging questions that were eating him from the beginning. “What exactly is happening? Who are you? _What_ are you? This is not a dream, isn’t it? How long is this going to last?”

That got him a shrug from them both. Saruhiko even clicked his tongue. “Asking many questions, but always the obstinate idiot. Just be honest with yourself already, Misaki.”

“We’re helping you, that is the truth.” Totsuka sighed softly, like he was getting tired of explaining difficult things to a child. “Believe it or not, we just want you to reach a certain checkpoint.”

All things considered, Yata had been fully prepared for getting nothing at all, but not this kind of stupid vague riddle or whatever it was. “What the heck does that even mean?”

“Find the answer yourself, Misaki. You’re very close to it.” Saruhiko smirked. “Be careful with your choices, though. Not necessary a bad thing, but tragedies and happy endings aren't that far from each other.”  

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“I have the perfect game for you, little bull-headed children.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

“What now, kid.” The red King drew a long inhale of his smouldering cigarette. “It’s been a while since I saw your sour face.”

“Huh? Mikoto-san…?” Yata blinked. Just a second ago, he was talking with Saruhiko and Totsuka, and now he was sitting next to Mikoto  on the couch. As usual, scenes seemed to change drastically between blinks and blurry worlds.

“You don’t look very happy. That’s a rare sight.” Mikoto snorted.

Yata almost instinctively acted like he always did around the King, smiling carefreely and claiming that everything was awesome. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Mikoto-san, please, tell me what’s going on!” He choked out the words like they were bitter pills.  

Mikoto exhaled a cloud of grey smoke. “This is the place to be happy, that’s what you said. Your family, Homra, Fushimi, everything you want.”

“But I—”

“Why do you deny it?”

“Because…” Because what? Yata buried his head in hands. What he remembered were a confusing guilty sadness, a frustration so great it made him go crazily angry, the scary smell of gunpowder and a sword that destroyed the only place he belonged to. But, that place full of hurtful memories was where he wanted to return. “A happiness which is freely given and can erase the pain entirely isn’t happiness at all. It’s something that even quietly wishing for is not allowed..”

Mikoto only smiled. “Not bad.”

Suddenly, a voice flowed into Yata’s aching head, and somehow it sounded like Saruhiko’s desperate voice trying to wake him up from somewhere really, really far away.

“Go, Yata. Let’s see just where the two of you end up in, at the end of the dreams.” The King patted him on the head. “Assume neither of you gets lost midway.”

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Depend on how you play it, it may buy me a lot of time.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Saruhiko clapped his hands mockingly. “You come back to me and me alone for the final stage. You really love me the most, huh, even more than the wish for a complete Homra under Suoh Mikoto’s rule? ”

“Mikoto-san…” Throat tightened, Yata had to force himself to finish the sentence. “…is dead. And you went away ages ago. That perfect world of mine has gone, even though I don’t know how come.”

There was a crack in the air. Saruhiko looked at it for a long moment, then burst out a bitter, almost maddening laughter. “But, isn’t that always how it is? Your eyes are wide open, yet you never take anything in, never see beyond what is allowed to be shown.”

This. _This_ was familiar.

It sounded…like the real current Saruhiko. Terrible, painful, but Yata tasted nothing but relief at the tip of his tongue. “Ah. There you are.”

“Here I am, Mi~sa~ki.” Sickening smile. Hey, long time no see. “Seem like you don’t like the lovely, touchy-feely version of me much. What a surprise~ I don’t take a virgin like you for a masochist, but who would ever know?”

“That you…is just my wishful imagination, isn’t it? You’re the kind of guy who absolutely won’t let someone enter his territory, after all.”

“Oh? And what do you reckon _me_ is?”

“You.” Yata tried to connect all the dots, slowly, cautiously, like a sole survivor in a deadly jungle. “Nah, Saruhiko. What I’m thinking is that…everyone, everything in here, they’re all illusions that base on my desires. But, they are given to me as easily as an obvious trap, so I can’t accept it. If that is the case, then you probably are…”

Saruhiko, the one who had laughed with him over silly things, who had wished to take over the boring world alongside him, who had protected his back until the very last day. Saruhiko, the same person who wore a deceitful blue coat, pointed a sharp sword at his neck, breathed stinging insults in and out as if they were oxygen. The days they had spent together. The days they spent apart.

Hating Saruhiko was so easy, anything else was not.

But, the warmth, the trembling excitement, the old _love, hey, I love you, you are amazing, together we can do anything_ still flowed in his veins whenever they locked eyes. Like a poison that had been planted deep in blood cells. Flickering and sometimes fading, yet unleaving, unleaving, always.

“I’m really tired of hating you, you know, even though you stir my anger so effortlessly. You’re one hell of a nightmare, one that I can never understand even if I crack my brain off.” Yata mumbled quietly, very uncharacteristic for someone who yelled his mind loudly all the time. “So, the you right now probably is…my biggest, deepest desire.”

“Really, now. Am I?” The tone that Saruhiko spat out was as spiteful as his movement to expose the burnt Homra insignia. “Can you look at _this_ and say that again?”

Yata felt the strings of his heart throb. It was as if some of them suddenly burst and blood started freezing throughout his body. He tried putting his palm on his chest to rub the pain away, but as expected it just kept spreading and turned into a deep ache.

Still, he looked at the tainted tattoo of Saruhiko, and abruptly understood that this person was wounded maybe even worse than him.

“Yeah. You’re… an important person I don’t wish to hurt.”

“Oh.” Saruhiko chuckled. “Too late. You hurt me plenty.”

“Vice versa, bastard. If only you tell me where we had gone wrong.” Yata smiled. He had learnt what was sorrow and regret. So, now, he already comprehended just what happiness should be. He stepped forward, head held high, eyes never waver. “However, I know just one cheat code.”

Tightly, Yata grasped Saruhiko’s thin fingers. They looked so cold and fragile, but he knew more than anybody else in the world how warm and strong they could be. He brought them circling behind his back, and in reciprocation, wrapping his own arms around Saruhiko’s waist.

A bittersweet embrace that made Yata feel like he was both going home and going on a dangerous adventure at the same time.

“Idiot Saruhiko. I hate you so much.” He buried his face in the other’s shoulder. “Someday I’ll pry everything out of your fucking mouth. Why you left, why you turned into this thorny you right now, what you really think about me, everything. For it to happen…I hope you will come back to me, like this.”

“Oh, Misaki, ever the crybaby, aren’t you?” Saruhiko tightened his arms forcefully, too tight that it almost became a stranglehold. Despite the cruel force, his eyes trembled and his lips slightly curled into a sad, sad smile. “Well, let’s pray that your hope isn’t going to kill us all.”

A sudden dizziness crashed itself into Yata’s mind. Below him, the ground cracked and broke into a spiral darkness downwards. Saruhiko took his hands off him surprisingly gently, and before Yata realized what was happening, he had already fallen. Alone.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“There are only two rules.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

The first thing Yata saw when he opened his eyes was an electric clock hanging on the opposite wall. 7:07 PM, March 25th, in big red letters.

And the next thing was the whiteness.

White ceiling. White walls. White bed sheets. White pillows as well. The idle sunlight out the window was also of an unusual wanness. It was kind of annoying when there was barely any colour for the eyes to focus on.

Yata tried to sit up, but stopped when he felt a slight sting on his wrist. An IV.

“Why am I in the hospital?” Yata raised an eyebrow. True enough, he was wearing a hospital gown and lying flat on the bed. He felt tired and confused, but mostly confused. What was going on?

Yata vaguely remembered that something had happened on March 25th, something important but very unpleasant. What was that, again?

He scratched his head for a few minutes, however, nothing came to mind. Just as he was about to get out of the bed to find a clue, the door opened and two tall blond men came in.   

“Yata-san! You woke up!” Kamamoto exclaimed, sounding like he was on the verge of bursting out in tears. “I’m so glad! It has been so long!”

Kusanagi quickly helped Yata sit up, a bright smile danced on his lips. “It’s good to see you finally come to. Quite a stubborn brat, you are.”

Struggling to hold himself up, Yata gave his best assumption. “Was I in a coma? What happened?”

“Something like that.”The bartender patted his head. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“An awfully weird dream.” Yata chuckled. “Joking. I think it was…Saruhiko and I chasing the same strain? The stupid sneaky hag that Homra have put a tag on for forever, but never figure out what ability she has. Seems like the blue dogs has business with her, too. I don’t know about the rest.”

“That’s right, Yata-san.” Kamamoto sighed. “You and Fushimi was found unconscious together in an abandoned building just outside our territory. No matter how hard we tried, both of you remained deep in comatose.”

“Me and…Saru?!” Yata jolted. “Where’s Saru? Has he woken up yet?!”

Kusanagi and Kamamoto looked at each other a bit uneasily, then turned to face Yata with a slight frown. “No, he hasn’t. He’s in the next room if you want to visit.”

Without a further delay, Yata yanked the IV out of his wrist, ignoring the small burn as it scratch the sensitive skin, and sprang out of the room. He vaguely noticed that his exhaustion had mysteriously disappeared like it was never there, but figured that it must be the work of adrenaline. Still, his body hurt all over, just as it did when he was dreaming.

“Strain or unknown power or whatever, fuck them.” He grumbled, dragging his aching legs as though they were dead weights. “I am the Yatagarasu of Homra. I cannot be beaten.”

The same should go for that die-hard guy.

It really should.

_Isn’t that right, Saruhiko?_

“So, stupid lazy-ass monkey, why the heck are you still sleeping? Showing such a peaceful expression and lying around all vulnerable, it isn’t like you at all.”

The same whiteness. The same big red “7:07 PM, March 25th” on the same kind of clock. The only thing that was different from Yata’s own room was the person occupying it.

Yata sat down on the edge of the bed and glared at his once best friend’s unmoving body, fingers unconsciously seeking for the other’s hand under the thin blanket. Now that he actually took a closer look, Yata thought Saruhiko’s face was tranquil in an odd way, like rather than being just a sleeping face, it was frozen in a timeless void. Saruhiko’s hand was icy cold, barely resembled that of a living person with an actual blood flow. His breaths were quiet. Hollow.

Empty shell.

“I guess I was like this just an hour ago, huh?”

_Silence._

“It’s weird, you know. I could swear I heard your voice in my dream. I thought you were trying to wake me up or something.”

White.

“I wonder what kind of illusion you are having. Is it the same as mine? Knowing you, things can’t be good.”

Talking to himself began to sound ridiculous.

“Get out of it soon, Saruhiko.”

Why was there no one here with you? Heh, that’s exactly why the blue clan couldn’t be trusted.

“We have many things that need to be settled. Ok?”

Yata gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his feet. This was going to be difficult. Patience was never a virtue he possessed.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Since I like tricky games, the first rule is that you just need to stick to your belief.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

The clock in the Saruhiko’s hospital room was broken, it seemed, Yata noticed that after coming back several times. It stopped at the exact time when he had first seen it.

He was dismissed as soon as he told Kusanagi everything was fine. There wasn’t even a check-up. It was equally easy to fall back to his usual life, well, as usual as it was when Mikoto and Totsuka weren’t around. Homra had been sticking together fine.

However, for some reasons, something felt odd. Something was missing. Yata couldn’t put a finger on it, but the uneasiness crept into his mind steadily, growing stronger as time went by.

Saruhiko still hadn’t opened his eyes.

No amount of talking pulled the guy back from his deep slumber. Yata spent more and more time there, trying his best to do anything coming to mind to help, but nothing happened. Calling name, retelling memories, giving instructions, insulting, yelling, hitting, kicking. He tried everything.

“Monkey, I bet you’re being way too fucking stubborn and refuse to be honest with yourself.” Growling in smouldering anger, Yata dug his nails into the irritating white bed sheets next to Saruhiko’s upper arm. “I thought you were the smart one? Why the hell you haven’t figured it out already?”

Come on. It had been…

“You are always this way, not taking anybody’s hand, saying you don’t need anything. That’s why you can’t escape, isn’t it? You may even choose to not acknowledge you desire.”

_How long had it been, again…?_

“Nah Saru…Do you really think you are that strong?”

_Answer me._

“Saruhiko.”

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Sound pretty easy, isn’t it?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Something was wrong.

When had his life become so dull?

Come to Homra, visit Saruhiko, wait, come back home. Repeat. Re-repeat.

Nothing ever happened. Yata didn’t even feel like he was living a real life anymore. It felt like he was trapped in a stagnant world once again. He hated it.

“Anna.” One day, he found himself asking the little girl out of sheer desperation. If it’s from Anna, it must be the truth. “Please tell me this world is real.”

“Everything is real.” Anna quietly answered. “Are you okay, Misaki? You’ve been on edge for a while now. Why did you ask such a question?”

“Yeah. Uhm. Nothing. Just a little under the weather, I guess.”

“Do you…” The girl paused a second to choose her words carefully. “…miss Saruhiko?”

“…No.”

“You’re very worried about him.”

“That guy is just a nuisance. I mean…no one is ever there for him, so I must take care of that idiot every day, it’s tiresome. Ugh, actually, I think I’ll visit him  little early today.”Yata clicked his tongue, a bad habit learnt from the best. He threw his skateboard down and prepared to go. “Honestly, any more of this and I may lose it and go break his damn neck or something.”

“Misaki.”

“Hm?”

“Misaki.”                           

“What is it?”

Yata looked over his shoulders when his name was called twice. Anna hardly called him more than one in that serious tone. Suddenly, he was looking straight at Anna’s piercing stare, these unreadable scarlet eyes gave him a chill all the way down his fingertips.

“Misaki.” She spoke in a slow and cautious tone. “Sometimes, going astray is a choice, too.”

_What does that mean?_

Anna didn’t wait for him to ask the question. She quickly turned around and ran like there was someone chasing her.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“The catch is the second rule!”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

This was getting ridiculous. No, it was ridiculous right from the start.

Re-re-repeat, the cycle. The day started to blur and it seemed like no one moved a step forward. As though time was irrelevant. Just, the same, everything.

As the time he chose to stay with Saruhiko stretched even longer, Yata thought he might really go insane. Until Saruhiko awoke, he could only helplessly watch and talk about whatever came to mind. Sometimes, when no word could come out of his sore throat anymore, he either played a random rhythm on some metal surface or just hummed under his breaths.

All for the sake of not being drowned by the deadly silence.

Yata never took for granted the human’s natural ability to make noises ever again.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“And that is…”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Tick-tok. Minutes turned to hours turned to days. Every time Yata came back, he looked at the broken clock. It was always 7:07 PM March 25th.

“Just what do I do, now?” Tick-tack-tick-tok, the sun went down, the sun went up, the red letters didn’t move past March 25th.

 _It’s not coming._ He was helpless.

 _It’s not coming_. He cursed himself, punched the wall, kicked the bed.

 _It’s not coming._ He buried his head in his arms and yelled his lungs out.

_It’s not coming at all._

Saruhiko, that bastard just wouldn’t wake the fuck up.

As days and days and _days_ continued to go by, Yata felt like he was playing an eternal Russian roulette with himself. Click- click, no bullet coming out and for a moment, he thought what if there was no bullet at all. That would be a shame, actually. Click. Where was the bang? Another click. He wasn’t sure where the last line of his limit laid, wasn’t sure how long he could take it before giving up his insanity.

This was worse than any tricky nightmare.

What if he just…took the gun and ended this thing with his own hands?

Yata stared at the lifeless body in front of him, and before he knew it, he had climbed onto the bed and wrapped his fingers around Saruhiko’s neck.

_Saruhiko said it anyway. “‘Give me love’. It’s what you want to cry from the bottom of your heart. Ah, and ‘don’t leave me’, that too.”_

_“We’re helping you, that is the truth.” Totsuka sighed softly, like he was getting tired of explaining difficult things to a child. “Believe it or not, we just want you to reach a certain checkpoint.”_

_“Go, Yata. Let’s see just where the two of you end up in, at the end of the dreams.” The King patted him on the head. “Assume neither of you gets lost midway.”_

_Despite the cruel force, Saruhiko’s eyes trembled and his lips slightly curled into a sad, sad smile. “Well, let’s pray that your hope isn’t going to kill us all.”_

_“Misaki.” Anna spoke in a slow and cautious tone. “Sometimes, going astray is a choice, too.”_

“I don’t understand.” With his fingers tightening against Saruhiko’s pale skin, Yata felt like maybe this was the end of the world. “I don’t fucking understand. Why wouldn’t you wake up? After everything you did to me, after that damn disturbing dream, you just can’t do this to me, shitty monkey. If you don’t wake up, I’ll kill you, I swear I will.”

If he put in just a little more strength…

He might…

Just a tiny little bit more…

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking stupid.” Yata lowered his head. “As if I would.”

“Come on, damn it.” He dropped his hands to Saruhiko’s sides and gathered that lifeless body into a tight, almost bone-crushing embrace.

“How long must it take for you to just hug me back, Saruhiko?”

 


	2. Side Fushimi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this chapter is way overdue ^^"... I have no excuses, please don't hate me?
> 
> Btw, this story is set post MK pre-s2, in case you wonder about the lack of their maturity and why there are no s2 events.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“…to meet!”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Human’s deepest desires and wildest imagination were what formed dreams, they said. Being home made you feel warm and safe, they said. Going back home always gave you the sense of nostalgia and renewal, they said.

Fushimi had never wanted to laugh so bad.

There he was, with the body of a little kid, standing in the middle of his old room in the big, big mansion, looking out the window to see the sun bleeding dark red and orange down the horizon. Chills ran up and down his spine, and despite having the memories of a 20-year-old, he couldn’t stop shivering out of fear and self-loathing.

The door was left open. At first, there was only silence. A good thing, actually, but Fushimi knew better. Any moment now, a sickening laughter would shake the air, his name would be drawled in a terrible voice that sounded too much like his own. And then, the usual nightmare would begin, once again.

Tap, tap, tap. Footstep. Tap. _Tap._

“Hey ya.”

_See?_

“Are you there?”

That man was already coming up the stairs.

“Won’t you open the door for me?”

Fushimi bit his lips. No fucking way.

“Hm? No answer? Aren’t you feeling well?”

He ran to the window, one foot dangling out, prepared to jump down. 20 feet high. In reality, the jump would no doubt break his ankles, however, right now he wondered if he could even fly. Shouldn’t that be the most ironic thing ever?

“I’m coming in.”

Fushimi closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and leaped.

“Wha--! S-SARUHIKO!”

Suddenly, breaths were knocked out of his lungs. He felt a strong force gripped around his torso, pulling him back mid-jump. The scene blurred in and out of vision when he was dragged back into the room, away from his only escape.

“Die. Fuck off! Die!” Fushimi growled, though his teeth were already clattering and cold sweats were dripping down his back. He scratched the man’s arms as fiercely as he could, struggled and thrashed in vain. Even so, he didn’t call for help, he never did, because this was the way it always was. He always ended up stuck in the disparate chaos of haunting ghosts and cold darkness that dragged him down every second every night. No one had ever come, and so he had to come up with something, anything, to save himself, repeatedly, alone.

“I’m just trying to stop you from injuring yourself. Why are you wriggling around so hard?” The man’s voice sounded oddly confused as his hands came loose harmlessly. “Saruhiko?”

Fushimi stopped dead. He turned around slowly, waiting for a prank to come crashing right into his face. He hated it to his core, but anything else must be even worse.

However, all he saw was a smile. Niki’s. A gentle smile that was awfully foreign and yet terrifyingly recognizable.

It felt like _that day_ all over again.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Hm? What does that mean, you say?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Fushimi remembered it well, the very first time he had ever come to an amusement park. He had been a young child, barely six at most, still wide-eyed at every wonder of the world, still believing in any hand that had spread out in front of him. Too young to be anything else but naïve.

_“Saruhiko, do you want to ride the merry-go-round?”_

And, of course, too young to know what exactly the first day of April meant.

_“Saruhiko, the mirror castle is that way.”_

It wasn’t ‘my little monkey’, but _‘_ Saruhiko’.

_“Do you want an ice-cream? Mild vanilla is good, let’s try it.”_

And then there was that smile. Not the hysterical laughter after all those pranks had done their damage, but loving, tender smiles.

_“It’s crowded, Saruhiko. Hold my hand so you won’t be lost.”_

Ah.

That might be the first, Fushimi thought. Had he ever really held the hand of someone? He wasn’t sure, but if he had done such a thing, it must have come from a dream, a hallucination.

Fushimi took the hand. Not just touching the finger tips in passing or holding a loose link, but truly clasped, with the pulses of his tiny wrist beating against big palm and his fingers searching for the man’s knuckles. It filled him with an odd relief akin to that of a blind child learning to read braille for the first time.

_“I’ll buy you a toy. Which do you like? Stuffed bear? Cards? Rubik?”_

Up until that day, it was the happiest memory Fushimi had ever had.

_“I know! You’re smart, aren’t you? I’ll buy you a rubik! It’ll be fun… so fun. Right, neh?!”_

And that‘s why

the April 2nd was the saddest.

_“Ah-ha-ha!”_

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“You go through the game by the first rule…and you get to the same checkpoint…together.”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

The anthill was still there. A small, beautiful world made of orders with just the right amount of chaos. Next to it lay a perfectly sorted rubik. And then a short pencil, a blue candy,  a small firecracker, a thin book about basic coding, a cheap game console.

And, that man and that woman, sitting at the dinner table, putting candles on a birthday cake, smiling at him.

_Hah._

_What a joke_ , Fushimi thought, w _hat had been burnt should have stayed ashes._

“Saruhiko, why are you still sad?” That woman gave him a concerned gaze. It looked peculiar on her. “Look, we’ve gathered many beautiful presents for you. Do you like them?”

“He does.” That man chuckled. “They are all his precious treasures, aren’t they? My son, we wish you a happy birthday.”

It was so funny Fushimi couldn’t quite hold back a sinister laugh.

Happy birthday. He had heard it sometimes, from Misaki or Totsuka or Munakata or those who couldn’t shut up about it, but never from the people who had made his birthday happen in the first place. Fushimi thought of rotten vegetables inside a cake box barely bigger than his head, and laughed some more.

Well, to be honest, it didn’t really matter.

“Beautiful presents? Do you really think I would fall for that?” Fushimi picked up a butter knife that was lying on the table. It gleamed sharply, fine silver and a tad of gold under the bright light of all those fancy lamps. He played with it, spinning it around his small fingers. What an odd sense of nostalgia, a child playing with the knives on the table every dinner because no one told him blades could cut the skin. “Only an idiot would fall for the same trick twice.”

Fushimi took in the mix of shock and concern expression of those adults in front of him, feeling nothing but entirely disgusted. He should have been scared out of his mind like in the other nightmares, but he didn’t.

Without waiting for any other word, he stabbed the knife into the cake, hard enough to instantly splash it into a mess.

“I refuse. If good things happen, they will eventually end.” He said, the words tasted _cold_ on his tongue. “And I have no need for beautiful things.”

The second day of April. The last day of summer. The coldest day of November. Always, the joy would be gone and the emptiness would be back, followed by a seeping sadness that felt like something he truly did deserve.

“Is that really what you  think? Saruhiko…” That woman gazed at him, eyes gentle and sad and clearly unreal. “Say, is there something important to you in this house?”

There should be.

_There should have been._

“No.” Fushimi looked at the candles. Small flames still flickered weakly, waiting to be buried by the falling apart cream. The knife felt heavy in his hand. “There isn’t.”

And then, everything blurred over. Fushimi felt dizzy all of a sudden, like he was going to fall into a black pit. The last thing he saw was that man’s knowing smile. He never wanted to see it again.

“Oh, Saruhiko.” That man said. “We never taught you to lie.”

Oh, Fushimi’s lips curled into a mocking grin before he let his eyes close. But you did.

You did.

      _\------------------------------------------------_

_“But if you do things differently, you’ll walk in another path, then you’ll come to a different destination, that much is clear, isn’t it?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

“Saruhiko! Come on, wake up! We’re late!”

Fushimi blinked slowly, not at all surprised to see a young Misaki in middle school uniform looming over him. He clicked his tongue. Somehow, this whole business was going in a very predictable way.

“Late for what?” He drawled out, the tone sounded weird in his childish voice. He looked down at his body. Still so small. Maybe even smaller than Misaki.

“Class is over, you sleep through it like a chump! Don’t you remember that you promised to come to my house after school?” Misaki jokingly poked Fushimi in the forehead.

“No.” Fushimi leaned into the little contact. The sensation of finger touching there felt more than just an echo of distant memories.

“Saruuuuu!!”

“Tsk… You’re loud even in a dream, huh.”

Misaki titled his head. “Eh? What was that?”

“Nothing.”

How vivid, this particular piece of false imagination. Fushimi stared at the other boy and tried to take a deep breath. Sun-kissed skin, auburn strands of hair, lively amber eyes that could put the most vivacious cat to shame, bright smile like nothing else in the world. Misaki, this was the Misaki that had crashed into his life and brought him a ray of light and took care of him and came back when he called and wanted to take him out of that house.

Right, this was also…the Misaki that he had lost.

“Saru?”

_Stupid dream._

“Hm?”

Misaki pointed a finger ahead. In front of them stood a small but cosy house, bursting with verdant green and all those stuff that showed it was inhabited. “Why’re you spacing out? We’re here! Come on!”

“Hm.”

Minoru and Megumi greeted them warmly right at the entrance, followed shortly by their parents. Misaki smiled in reply and tugged at Fushimi’s sleeve, silently urging him to come in.

The house didn’t change a bit from the past, but somehow, there was something weird about its atmosphere. Fushimi looked at the chatting family beside him and frowned. All five of them were laughing happily, even trying to pull him into the conversation. Misaki accidently said something stupid and, for a moment of poor guard, Fushimi let a small amused noise slip.

Something was off. Did it always feel this…familiar? Like it was natural for him and Misaki to be here.

“Don’t you snort at me! Geez, can you all believe him?”

“Now, now, Misaki. You can’t expect Fushimi-kun to believe that you’ve seen aliens.”

“DAD! But, they’re real! I saw them with my own eyes!”

“Big brother! It’s not nice to bluff!”

“I’M NOT LYING!! I swear I saw them walk into a big floating ship and WHooops they flew home like that! It was so cool!”

“Uh-huh. Sure it is, Misaki. Having some places to return to is a good thing.”

“Mom… You don’t believe me, do you…”

“Well…”

“Saru! Say something! Can’t you see my dignity is in danger?”

Fushimi’s frown deepened. Yes, something was wrong, even as wrong as those fake worthless adults before.

“You,” he hummed humourlessly. “You look awfully comfortable in this house.”

Misaki tilted his head slightly. “Yeah, of course? This is my own home. And…and, say, Saru…”

_This is my own home._

Really, now. Fushimi tried to swallow the sudden rising taunt bubble in his throat.

“Funny _you_ would say that, Misaki.”

_Having some places to return to is a good thing._

“H-huh? Well, anyway, if you want to, y-you too can be with our fami--”

“Shut up.” Fushimi jumped to his feet and stomped out. The walls faded away in an instant. Behind his back, the entire Yata house blinked in and out of existence. Even the children’s shout and the voice of Misaki’s mother seemed like they came from somewhere far, far away. He shut all of them down, trying to remind himself that this was a dream, he knew he was dreaming, therefore he had power over it.

_(“Having some places to return to is a good thing.”)_

_(“However, from now it’s the new family that will make my mother happy……it’s okay if I don’t protect my mom anymore. When I had thought about that I had realized that wasn’t the place I belong to anymore…”)_

_(“This is my own home.”)_

_(“Couldn’t we rent a room together? Let’s make it our secret headquarters.”)_

What the hell, Fushimi gritted his teeth, again with the stupid blatant fakery. He had forced the nightmare to change, applying the principle of lucid dreams and stuff, but now he was walking on an unfamiliar hustle-bustle street that he had no control of. Everyone was going back and forth and around, all busy and had a destination to arrive. And to return to.

Fushimi stopped, body heavy and heart aching, as if he had rocks running adrift in his blood.

In a world that everyone had a home to which they could return, where should he go?

If that was so…

“Saruhiko.”

Fushimi did not turn around, did not answer, though Misaki’s voice was so close to him, and sounded very, very real.

“You never let me finish my sentence.”

What’s there to say?

“Where are you running off to so hurriedly?”

Somewhere. Nowhere.

“Nah, you know? No matter how fast you run, there’s nothing ahead that way.”

Yeah.

I know.

“Saru, it’s okay. This is what you want, right?”

What is?

“Hey…I may not have much…but if you call for me, I’ll be your home.”

_Having some places to return to is a good thing._

Oh?

Will you?

It’s not April yet, isn’t it?                  

Fushimi bit his lips tightly. Without a warning, he dashed forward to run across the street. The road twisted under his feet, protesting every step he made. He didn’t know if Misaki was chasing him, a tiny part of him wished for it to happen while the rest refused to believe.

All the lines were fuzzy and distorted. Then, there came the shrieking sounds of car crashing and people shouting and screaming and his name being called.

He did not stop. Did not turn around either.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Consider just how different you are from each other… Haha, think you have a chance to win?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

“Man, you’re truly so freaking troublesome.”

Fushimi blinked rapidly three times before he recognized that he wasn’t running around blindly anymore, but was lying face down on a worn-out bed. The top one of their old bunk bed, actually. His body of a child didn’t grow an inch so it was too large for him.

“Misaki?” He looked up cautiously, a little dishevelled because of the way too sudden change of scene. It happened like a paper being torn, fast and merciless, almost like the nightmare itself was trying to drive him into a corner.

“Would it kill you to just listen to me properly for once?” The redhead seemed to be dangling on the top step of the ladder and tugged at the hem of Fushimi’s shirt. Fushimi narrowed his eyes a little, he couldn’t see clearly. Misaki was only faintly there, like his eyesight was growing weak even with his glasses on. “You said I’m an idiot, but know what? You are the biggest jerk in the entire world.”                                      

Fushimi was about to snap back when a strong wave of déjà vu hit him. Misaki, standing on the ladder, playing with his shirt, insulted him in an exhausted tone. When was this memory from?

“What brought that up?” He turned to the ceiling. Though blurred, it looked rusty as always.

“Nothing. Just state a fact.” Misaki grunted. “Nah, Saru, you do understand that we’re a pair of misfits fated to be stuck with each other, don’t you? So just stay put already, goddamnit.”

“Tsk. What are you babbling on and on about?”

A thick pause stretched out for several seconds until Fushimi felt his head be turned sideways to meet Misaki’s eyes.

“Listen, dumbass.” Those amber orbs were uncharacteristically dark and serious, though there were tears starting to pool in the corner of his eyes. “You know me the best, and so do I toward you. I know the things you wish for, your face when you’re sad or when you’re happy, things you won’t let others get a glimpse of. I’m always with you… So… don’t you forget the promise we made – we’ll always be side by side, always together… D-don’t go off somewhere all alone without me again, okay?”

Fushimi closed his eyes, letting out a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding. Right, he remembered now. It was about _that_ time, huh.

“Don’t cry, Misaki. The you at this point of time are always more suited for a silly smile.” He chuckled mockingly. “Besides, I told you, it was just a stupid misunderstanding.”

“…Was it?” Misaki glared.                                                      

Maybe. Not really.

Fushimi recalled the day he had sleepwalked alone, possessed by the ghosts of the past, to the rooftop of the building they had rent their apartment. He had stood there, dangerously close to the edge, looking down at the city that had been sunk in dark clouds without actually seeing anything. Voices and laughters that weren’t his own had echoed everywhere but the hollow darkness right in front of him. Just a few steps more. He had learnt that someone had jumped off before, that was why the rent was so cheap

“And then Misaki came.” His eyes fluttered open. There he was, standing on that exact edge, dangling on the thread between life and a fall worth 20 floors. Behind him, Misaki had just plunged through the door, sweating, out of breath. “Just in time to wake me up.”

“Saru! What’s the meaning of this?” Misaki yelled. The words sounded clear even through the panicked gasps. “I saved you, I swore I’d be with you forever so you didn’t have to worry about anything! Why must you do this?”

“I want to make sure something,” Fushimi muttered under his breaths. “So I could only control these little things. I see…”

“W-What? Ugh, come on, let’s just—”

“Misaki.”                                                                      

“Y—“

“There is something you should know,” Fushimi turned his gaze down. The darkness was close under his feet. “People don’t need much to start thinking about death.”

“Saru…?”

“Their life may not be as bad as the next person. Maybe the things they have to face are trivial. Maybe nothing ever even happens to them. They know it’s pathetic, unnecessary, coward, entirely stupid. They want to die anyway.” Fushimi tapped his heel on the concrete high fence before swirling around to face his old friend, baring his tiny back to thin air. “It’s an irrational, but plaguesome thought.”

Misaki stared at him, wide eyes filled with shock and confusion, mouth moving slowly but no sound escaped from his throat.

“I don’t need a home. ‘Home’ wasn’t even a good thing to begin with. But, if you really want to stay by my side forever,” Fushimi pressed on, trying to ignore both the pained look on his friend’s face and the burn on his tongue. “Will you go wherever I go?”

_(You will.)_

_(Of course you won’t.)_

One, two, three seconds passed, or at least that’s what it seemed like. A shadow fell onto Misaki’s face as he curled both his hands in tight fists and huffed loudly. “At the end of the day, you pretty much just did things for your own convenience, huh? Be it then or now, I can’t even get a single fucking word through to you, you stubborn gloomy jerk.”

Fushimi counted in his head. It was a strange feeling to think this clearly in a mess of jumble mumble nonsense. He reached twenty one when Misaki finally moved forward. He could almost feel the added weight of the Misaki on the fence when the redhead climbed up next to him.

“It’s a promise.” Misaki smiled, albeit somewhat forced, like he himself didn’t quite expect this to happen. “I’m going with whatever you wish for, if that makes you happy at last.”

“You call such a thing like this “happiness for me”?” Mumbling quietly, Fushimi took a hold of Misaki’s hand, fingers tracing the other’s knuckles. He still had his back against the open air while Misaki was facing it straight on.

“Saru, count to three?”

“…Aren’t you afraid? Angry?”

“Well, you aren’t, right?”

“Heh~”

Dark night, no moonlight. The city was drowning in mist. Cold howling winds. _20 floors._

_20._

Misaki took a leap. A jump too genuine, entirely believing that Fushimi was going to be by his side. It was going to be forever.

And so Fushimi let go of the hand he was holding.

The gale tossed Misaki’s red hair, marking his fall with a flash of red. Fushimi looked down from where he was still standing firmly. The despairingly increasing distance was just about to pound in his ears like a physical noise. His gaze glued to the shrinking figure, burning the pure brokenness in his fallen young friend’s amber eyes deep into his mind.

“Then again,” He whispered. “…people don’t need much to continue living either.”

In mere seconds, the redness disappeared from his sight, consumed by the muddy fog of the black-out city below, like a drop of blood melted into a bucket of ink. Ah, that man had been wrong. Even on the windiest days, children still wouldn’t be thrown up into the sky and flew somewhere far far away.

“Down the rabbit hole,” Fushimi swallowed the lump in his throat that he was holding from the start. “Goes everything that wasn’t Misaki.”

That’s right. Never, even in his wildest dream, would Misaki bend to his will like that. Never, ever, ever. If it had been Misaki, he would be beaten, be dragged away, be drilled into his brain all kinds of insults and lectures, and be beaten some more. Anything along those lines, or all of them. Just not and never jumping off with blind devotion and a smile. Surely, this was not his own imagination.

“Nah, the truth is, Misaki never came to the rooftop that night. I woke up when I received a message from him, it read _‘It’s too early, where are you?’_ He found me when I was walking back on my own. I made all that stuff up. Quite a mean ruse, but not as mean as yours, don’t you agree?”

There was a small crack in the sky. The ground shook in waves almost angrily.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” Fushimi chuckled under his breaths. “Someone is fucking with me.”

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“My, my, the smart-looking glasses boy doesn’t look very pleased?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

The window of Homra’s bar was unnaturally clean. Fushimi glanced at the rainy sky through it, cringing at the mere thought that he was there. The leaden raindrops were falling, slanting slightly, scattering everywhere. They painted a shivery transparent picture of dots and broken lines across the icy glass. It was the kind of downpour during which he used to like walking around all day without an umbrella, convinced that the rain could somehow wash the misplaced fire in him away.

“What’s the purpose of putting me here?” He asked when the seat next to him was claimed by a slender blond. Totsuka looked bigger than Fushimi remembered, or maybe it was just that he was stuck in a 6-year-old body. Out of sudden childish rebelliousness, he pulled his feet up and sat there cross-legged. “Got the timeline and couldn’t change the script?”

Totsuka gave him a patient smile while putting a tea set on the table. A new hobby, it seemed. “You desire this. At least a part of you does, however small it is, or even if you deny it.”

“Bullshit.” Fushimi pulled a disgusted face. “Who would want to be anywhere near a bunch of stupid, reckless thugs?”

“Sorry, let me rephrase that.” Totsuka dropped a cube of sugar in his cup of tea. Their conversation mixed with the noise of spoons clinking against fine china. “There was a time when you did consider if it was worth it to try harder to stay by Yata’s side and thus stay at Homra. Perhaps, by any chance, that thought was brought about by desperation?”

The warm smell of sweet tea was a sharp contrast with the cold rain outside. The same contrast happened with Totsuka’s eyes and the words he said. Fushimi narrowed his eyes, feeling trapped and exposed like an ant under a microscope.

“I thought nothing of the sort.”

“Did you?” The Homra vassal didn’t offer Fushimi tea, instead just calmly took a sip and gazed at him in what Fushimi deduced as pity.

“So stupid. Enough with the mind trick already.”

He turned around. Outside, the rain started pouring harder. The glass window was covered by a thin layer of steam.

The silence stretched on for a minute until a jingle at the door broke it. The rest of Homra came in, unnaturally dry in spite of the rain. Random members,Chitose, Dewa, Kusanagi, Kamamoto, Anna. Misaki.

Suoh Mikoto.

If Fushimi shivered because he felt fear creep up his spine like fire licked at half-wet wood, he liked to think he hid it rather well. Pulling his feet backward from where they were resting on the chair, he put his hands on the table to push himself up. But the sudden fear along with some foolish feelings akin to lost made him weak, and he dropped on the floor on both his knees.

Again with the pressure that he was sure he could snap in half if he didn’t try hard enough.

(A flash of memory –  He had carved it into his mind – On his collarbone, the searing pain throbbed as fire bit into his skin, marking him with a tattoo that might as well be a scar. He remembered, _remembered_ and never forgot.)

Fushimi sucked a shaky breath as a shadow loomed over him.

“Ahh, kid,” Suoh’s voice wasn’t as leisure as usual, like he actually did care. The red King was uncharacteristically offering him a hand. “You don’t look too well.”

Feeling irritated by that small moment of weakness, Fushimi ignored the hand and stood up on his own.

“What do you want?” He asked, not to anyone in the room, but to someone else hidden above. “Keep throwing those false replicas at me is useless. I won’t be fooled.”

Suoh shrugged casually. “It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it’s your dream. The only question is what _‘you’_ want.”

“I want nothing of this.”

“Yet you’re here. Yet, _I, Suoh Mikoto,_ am here.”

“Shut up. You, and by that I meant the fucking mastermind, twisted my mind.”

“Heh. Just a little knot.”

Fushimi glared up to the King, his fear discarded once he knew for sure this person wasn’t even close to being Suoh Mikoto. Or was he? The other man didn’t show any discontentment, just gave a small smirk.

“People come into your life for a reason, Fushimi.” Totsuka, who had been watching from the beginning, grinned somewhat amusedly. “You will understand if you allow yourself to truly think about it.”

It wouldn’t mean a thing even if he did, would it? People came and went away, some might leave footsteps, but that was it. No one should bother to care about withered grasses that were trampled and torn over the side road. He couldn’t care less.

_(That was a lie.)_

_(No, it wasn’t.)_

“…Dead people sure can talk much.”

“Wow, ouch, hold your horse,” Kusanagi chimed in, an unreadable smile on his lips. “That’s quite a low blow there, young man.”

“Kusanagi-san…”  Clicking his tongue, Fushimi refocused on the other people in the bar. Everyone was surrounding him as if he was a goddamned entertainment show or something. Even Misaki, though oddly keeping silence for the time being, was staring at him with an undivided attention. “What’re you all looking at?”

“Don’t mind us, haha.” The bartender made a jokingly surrender gesture. “Well, seems like you are about to get it, though.”

“I d—”

“Listen well, Fushimi,” Kusanagi’s eyes suddenly turned serious. “My earlier words still stand firm. I do hope you would stay in Homra forever. You have it in you what the Homra fire wants. Bravery, determination, loyalty - yes, you do have them, don’t give me that look – and, well, a bit of good-natured violence and chaotic behaviours. Even though you may think you don’t mingle with us well, we do care a lot about you. I don’t know why you think there isn’t a chance we could be friends?”

Fushimi looked away. He had had one year and a half to wonder that question. Even now, he hadn’t found the correct answer. Didn’t want to, really.

_(Homra is worthless.)_

_(I’m worthless there.)_

_(Misaki is looking away.)_

_(He belongs and I don’t.)_

_(It’s frustrating, annoying, boring.)_

_(It’s scary.)_

_(No one cares anyway.)_

_(Don’t you dare look at me with pity.)_

_(Family is a joke. I don’t need any stupid chummy friends.)_

_(Precious things will be burnt, forgotten, replaced.)_

“Saruhiko.” Anna tugged at his shirt. She was bigger than him now and that detail was disturbing just a little bit. “We’re all here for you.”

Suoh nodded. “You’re fine the way you are.”

Totsuka clapped cheerfully, supported by Kamamoto by the sideline. “It’s alright to find another place where you belong to, but don’t forget Homra was once a place you wanted to try staying and you’re welcomed anytime.”

“Yeah, Saru. And don’t forget that you’re my partner, we’re the strongest vanguards together, nah?” Misaki came closer and hugged him tightly. Brilliant amber eyes which never looked anywhere else, reassuring laugh, warm touches. “Even if you ultimately couldn’t stand being in Homra anymore, at least leave to the next with a light heart. I know it’s not your fault. Don’t make it your fault. Let’s not ruin everything you have here, ok?”

Misaki’s warmth should be something like comfort. But why…couldn’t he be satisfied with this embrace?

How? How were they able to laugh and talk to him like that?  Was this karma? Was everyone laughing at his foolishness?

Oh, right, for a second, he almost forgot. After all, this was just…

“I refuse.”

“Saru–!”

“Too bad, you see,” Fushimi struggled out of Misaki’s embrace. He wore that man’s twisted smirk on his lips, and for the second time it felt natural to do so. “My life is my own to ruin. Actually, it’s kind of my speciality, Mi~~sa~ki.”

Over his collarbone, a searing pain throbbed as fire bit into his skin, tainted his tattoo into a sickening dark mess of burnt flesh and blood. The exact wound that had crushed everything around him, the exact wound that had left a scar in his heart that still screamed with pain. It still stung with more than physical pain, every day, every night.

And it’s a price he was willing to pay.

Hurt and disappointment flashed across everyone’s face as they opened their mouth as if wanting to say something. Suoh shook his head. Misaki looked like he was screaming in tears. No sound came through.

And then, everyone and everything slowly faded into nothingness. The whole world was filled just an overflowing white colour.

Fushimi closed his eyes and turned around. Nothing left for him here.

_“Saruhiko. I believe you know what you’re doing.”_

Still, he could hear a very faint voice calling out to him.

“ _If you call my name, I’ll come and help.”_

He glanced back. Far, far away, was a small figure dressed in red. The figure stood in a strange position, like how one would cautiously stand in constant high risks of being caught.

“Good to know,” Fushimi hid a tiny smile under his palm. “Be sure to hang around, Anna.”

…

..

.

_“Please, be strong.”_

_“Don’t let it be forever, Saruhiko.”_

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Lighten up! I’m doing you a favour, to be honest!”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

The sky was cloudless blue, though maybe the pouring rain before had happened not too long ago. Fushimi could see puddles on the road dwindling away in the heat and splashed around by careless drivers. This part of the city looked busy as always with how people scrambled around like hungry ants. He knew what he should do here. Walking 10 more steps, then turning left, there would be a familiar big building, Scepter 4’s headquarters.

To his surprise, Misaki was waiting for him around the corner.

“Tsk. How many times must I kill you before you’re dead, Misaki?”

“You didn’t really kill me.” Misaki growled angrily. “Fucking traitor.”

“Oh? Now you sound almost like the real deal.”

“You’re a lost case if this is what you truly desire, monkey. You’ve got a sick sense of humour.” Misaki snarled as he pulled out a long metal rod, fire blazing up from his whole body all the way to the tip of his hair. “If you want a fight that much, damn it, fine with me then!”

The first attack was strong and unexpected, but Fushimi managed to dodge just in time. Their heights were messed up so it was much harder to do so.

“You have no shame going at it against me even when I’m in this form, huh?”

“Hah? Who the fuck cares?” Misaki’s too-intense glare never waved. “I fucking hate you!”

Misaki’s red was raging, fire came like a whirlwind tearing through Fushimi’s very being. Deadly beautiful.

Soaked in this terrible hatred, Fushimi did nothing but laugh. When he saw Misaki’s angry face, he felt more than sorrow and guilt. He felt satisfied. Almost relieved. A rush of something fiery sparked in his veins. He thought he was bleeding colours.

_(Yes, this is what I want.)_

_(Even though it’s painful.)_

_(Keep hurting me.)_

_(I don’t want to be hurt.)_

_(The pain is more fun together.)_

_(I don’t like seeing you in pain.)_

_(Look at me.)_

_(He won’t ever look at me again.)_

_(This is fine.)_

_(But just this is enough.)_

Cold metal pressed against his neck, and Fushimi found himself staring at a pair of very angry, but also very sad eyes.

“No. That’s not it…I don’t…”

“Tsk…”

“Why, Saruhiko? What do you want? I can’t understand you anymore.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Y-You keep saying you hate Homra, you hate me – But, surely, that wasn’t all it is for you.”

Fushimi sighed. He was really sick of this pattern. “No. That’s all there is to it.”

The metal rod was pushed deeper into Fushimi’s skin, almost strangling him. “That’s not true. W-we…You used to love me. But then, you changed, you changed so much I could hardly recognize you. Why, what happened to us? Tell me, Saruhiko, the truth is that you do want to tell me, isn’t it? Say it! Why must you leave me?”

These poignant words spoke out of a love full of rage and misery, they boiled up and filled Fushimi with a beast-like feeling. He knew he would dig his own grave once he started talking, so he bit his lips until they dripped blood. Still, the sheer heat of his own hopeless love seeped out of him, following the red drops, and he couldn’t help but let his bitter thoughts be said in a low, broken tone.

“It’s simple, Misaki, how blind can you be? You, who keeps going forward and does not turn around, has become so strong. I can’t relate to you anymore.” Fushimi dug his fingers into his tainted scar, his nose taking in the sickening smell of burnt flesh and not the stink of blood. “Do you know, Misaki, my beloved, hateful other half? Above all others, you were the only one who I wanted to have in my world. But, Misaki was not there anymore.”

“The one who was never around anymore is you, Saru! My world isn’t the same without you! You, above all people, are someone I thought would never betray me!” Misaki punched him hard in the face. The stinging ache was more or less welcomed. After all, neither of them were blameless when it came down to it.

“So stupid. Trusting people is your mistake, not mine. Besides, aren’t you a little selfish? I have no obligation to accompany you wherever you go. Really, it’s better if you just give up on the past. All we ever had were childish dreams that would never come true and empty talks that could never be achieved. It’s pathetic.” Fushimi gave a bitter smile, a taste like poison on his lips. Every word he said were words he directed at himself.

“Why are you saying that? You never gave me a chance to fix our bond, you never said anything that made sense to me. All the promises we made keeps dying and you just let it happen. Just, why? It didn’t have to be like this. You know that I love you!”

“Shut up.” Fushimi gritted his teeth, hands digging into his pocket to find something cold and sharp. He had talked too much. This conversation had been going for far too long, it had gotten dangerous. If he messed up now, there would be an eternal hell to pay.

“Face it, Saru, you understand that what you are doing hurts both of us too much and you want to stop it, don’t you? Let’s just…forget everything, okay? You loved me, you did. You do! We can still make it right if you will just accept me!”

No more, this is where it ends.

“I can’t turn back now, Misaki. In order to win, I have to keep going.” Fushimi said quietly. He carefully sealed away his feelings deep in silence, and pulled out the knife in his pocket to press it straight to Misaki’s chest.

“Y-You can’t…”

“Sorry. I refuse.”

The metal sliced through skin with little effort and dug straight in, making a horrible noise as it grazed against a chest bone.

Red, red, a dark red that didn’t suit Misaki at all, a crimson stain bloomed on white shirt. Fushimi could even feel heart pulses thumbing through his fingertips, weaker and weaker. Misaki’s body slumped into him, still warm but unmoving. The feeling of dread overwhelmed him with countless waves of awful sensations, faded for just a little and then washed over him again, and again.

Despite everything, Fushimi felt that something had just died off in his life, like a dim candle in a stormy night had just been blown out by the harsh wind.

“Sa…ruhiko..”

No, he wasn’t crying.

It had to be done. This path was surely a double-edged blade, Fushimi knew that from the moment he realized what was happening. But, sometimes, absolutely nothing would save you, as everything would trample you down until you had no choice but to push mercy off the table and destroy the only thing that ever was yours.

“I need you to hate me, after all.”

Even so, he went on. It’s still fine. He could fix it. He could make it worth.

Turning left, and there was Scepter 4.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“You could, maybe, find your true self and true love or something?”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

_“Saruhiko, remember what happened at 7:07 PM, March 25_ _th_ _.”_

The infirmary looked incredibly messed up for some reasons. Apart from some relatively fresh bed sheets and a digital clock on the wall, everything was either broken or thrown carelessly on the dirty floor. Medical needles and threads hanging on the half-opened window and ragged curtains. Blue and red pills scattered all over the tables in the corner, along with a few blunt scalpels and scissors. Even the IV on his wrist was tattered, barely able to transfer drops into Fushimi’s veins.

Besides the bed, Munakata stood up from the slightly cracked chair he had been sitting.

“Ah, Fushimi-kun. It’s a relief to see you join us for the day, at last. Did you have a good rest?”

“Captain.” Fushimi replied half-heartedly. “What now?”

“We’ve got quite a problematic case about a royal blue level strain, and in the process of capturing her, you and Yata Misaki took direct damage. You’ve been unconscious for 3 months. However –”

“Quit it.”

The blue King’s smile was pleasant as always, but there was a tight edge in the corner of his lips, like he was secretly frustrated about something. “Pardon?”

“I said, it’s already pointless to try to deceive me. Using Munakata won’t help anything. The _‘Oh you woke up!!! This is reality!!_ ’ card is such an old trick, who would ever believe that? “ Fushimi rolled his eyes, not bother to hide his sarcasm in the slightest. He yanked the IV out, knowing it was a decoy and would help nothing at all. “Well, maybe Misaki. That idiot doesn’t count anyway.”

“There might be a misunderstanding, Fushimi-kun. I am –”

“Disappear.” Raising the knife that still stained with blood, Fushimi grunted loudly. He didn’t want to deal with this anymore, such a waste of time. “Before I made you. You know I will.”

Munakata didn’t seem very ruffled, instead, he regarded Fushimi with a chilling look. Those icy violet eyes froze him to the bone, but he held the knife firmly in his hand.

“My, this is why you still can’t grow a day past the kid who got his anthill destroyed.”

Startled, Fushimi stared up speechless for a few stagnant seconds. Then, swallowing down whatever resembled wariness, he gave the captain an anguished and fierce glance. He kind of vaguely sensed something had been wrong already, but to hear it to his face felt so much, so much worse.

_(He was 6, powerless and abandoned, watching his world burn.)_

_(He was 20, broken and exhausted, burning his own world.)_

“None of your business!” He swung the knife up, wanting to just end everything as quick as possible.

“You’re obsessed with the circle of destruction.” Unlike Misaki, Munakata dodged the strike effortlessly. He grasped Fushimi’s wrist and flung him across the room, all the while keeping an unreadable smile on his lips. “Fushimi-kun, for you to go this far, what are you trying to prove?”

“No reasons.” Fushimi narrowed his eyes. All his bones were creaking and the sharp pain in his chest was as real as it could be. As expected, Munakata wasn’t an easy one to pass. “I just do whatever I want to do, that’s all.”

Disappear, disappear, disappear, he thought furiously, _disappear_ already.

It wasn’t working.

Munakata walked over and stepped on Fushimi’s right hand, nearly crashed his wrist. He flicked the knife to his other hand and aimed for a dead spot, only to be pinned to the floor by a strong force of blue.  

“Hm, so you’re admitting that you’re a selfish, impatient kid who just likes to wallow in self-pity and drag people down with you without really thinking about the consequences?”

Fushimi shuffled your feet to stand up. “That’s right.” Cracked lips and bloody toes, and suddenly he laughed.  “Say whatever you like, I don’t care.”

“However, there’s more to you than just that. Resembling a puzzle that hasn’t been completed yet, even you don’t understand yourself.” Munakata nodded solemnly. “Even so, you’re kind in your own way. Your hands are more suited for creating goodness.”

_(He was 6, he dug a tiny hole in the garden for what’s left of the ants.)_

_(He was 20, he wore blue and drew sword and swore justice.)_

Cheeks a rosy bruise, collarbone marred and tainted, Fushimi laughed and laughed until he had laughed himself hoarse. “Such empty pretty words. Shut up, don’t you dare imitate someone like the blue King that sloppily. Disappear!”

“Fushimi-kun, you can’t make me disappear. You don’t want to.” Munakata smiled, unfaltering, unbreakable. “Munakata Reishi is your King. Scepter 4 is your home. You want to stay.”

“You are no Munakata.”

“I can be, if you so much as desire it.”

“And to be trapped forever for the rest of my life in a fake happy dream? Tsk, no thank, I’ve given you enough time to screw around.”

Fushimi dashed ahead. He couldn’t win against a King even in a dream, but what if…

A faint image of someone small tugged at his shirt, then vanished instantly.

_“The window, Saruhiko!”_

In a flash, he flung himself past Munakata and jumped out the wide open window. He didn’t fall down. As if there was an invisible road in the air, his feet hit nothingness but kept him stable high above. He continued to run, each step took him closer to the sky and the city below shrunk. Weightless, high above, running straight into the bluest sky.

It was, in spite of everything, too beautiful a sight.

“Fushimi!” Awashima was calling his name. Many people, actually, he could tell the voices apart. Akiyama, Hidaka, Domyoji, Benzai, and even more people, they kept calling and those were terribly, terribly sorrowful sounds.

Fushimi made a mistake of looking over his back for just a moment.

The blue King’s Damocles sword was crumbling, pieces by pieces.

And then, it fell.

…No, Fushimi bit his lips and turned ahead, he wasn’t hurt. At all.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Get it? You have to keep both rules at the same time! No cheat!”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Black.

That’s all there was in this place, an endless space devoid of anything. Everywhere was the same, not a single thing could be seen.

“Seems like I’ve reached the end.” Fushimi said, the sounds echoed loudly. He briefly noticed it had changed to a much deeper tone. His body had grown back to its rightful time.

He didn’t expect an answer, but received it nonetheless from a voice he barely recognized.. “Didn’t I warn you? There’s nothing this way.”

Fushimi turned around to find the source of the noises. In front of his eyes, stood the little child version of himself.

The child spoke, it wasn’t Fushimi’s voice but the voice belonged to the strain behind all these hassles “You’ve destroyed it all. Everything, everyone. You did so by staying true to yourself, it’s pretty impressive how you made it with how incredibly conflicted you are. This is the end, yes. There’s only one thing you can do now.”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Hah?”

“You’re the only one left.” The child grinned and throw the knife at Fushimi’s feet. “Go on and destroy yourself.”

“Oh, that. So I have done a good job about the first rule.” He reached for the knife. The blade felt cold when he stroked his fingers across it. “Now, the second one… If I kill myself here, I’ll have to wait until Misaki kills me in his own dream, huh?”

The kid startled and immediately recoiled in suspicion. “You…remember?”

“7:07 PM, March 25th, emergency level sapphire, A-class Strain coded Saika with the power of mentality manipulation. Misaki and I caught you in an isolated sewer, but you tricked us into a mental game with the purpose of stalling for time until your partner-in-crime came to the rescue and you both safely fled from Japan. That’s what happened, wasn’t it?”

“…How? You’re supposed to forget it all.”

“It’s not that hard when one knows how to work around the mechanism of forgetting and remembering. All it needs are a right mind track and a right trigger.”

“What’s the trigger?”

“Heh, let’s just say you aren’t the only one who can walk in other people’s dreams.”

The strain gave Fushimi an odd look, apparently pretty pissed off at not being able to prevent a certain little girl from interfering. “If you know it all, why did you choose this destructive path of yours? This checkpoint clearly won’t cross Yatagarasu’s.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? This game is impossible from the start. If we stick to being ourselves, then no way we will arrive at the same place whatsoever. Vice versa.” Fushimi drawled mockingly. It was actually quite distressing when he said it out loud.

“Well, that’s kind of the point.” The strain shrugged smugly, the movement looked comical on Fushimi’s small body. “It’s the smartest strategy possible, and it works precisely because you two are such exceptional stubborn children.”

“Don’t be so sure about the ‘smart’ part.” Fushimi smirked, this time it was out of arrogant triumph and not cynical imitation. “If you were so cunning, you should have known that I’m that type of people who never play by the rules.”

“Wha—”

“Anna.”

Several sparks of fire hovered a little above Fushimi, and in the next moment Anna materialized from them, floating in the air like an idle butterfly with the way her dress waved around.

“Saruhiko.” With crimson eyes full of determination, she nodded at Fushimi as he raised a hand up to hold her fingers.

“Get me Misaki.”

Anna tightened her fingers and smiled slightly. Red and golden dust appeared under their feet and steadily formed a small whirlwind around Fushimi.. Whenever a speck of dust touched him, his body faded a little bit. He felt a tug deep in his heart and knew that it was from Misaki.

The darkness around them seemed to shake, and the ground turned mushy like mud. The strain grunted loudly, then coming at Anna with a terrifying expression that clearly held the pure intent to kill.

Clank! Fushimi threw the knife. It flashed blue and created a thick shield in front of him and Anna, effectively cut the strain off their tail.  

“Cheater! Just going to Yatagarasu’s checkpoint by force will solve nothing! As long as you can’t connect, you’re trapped forever!”

“…About that, we’ll see.”

As the last dust touched his eyes, Fushimi got a small joy of seeing his enemy’s furious expression till he completely faded from his own dream.

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Well then, game start!”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

Light. Warmth. Heavy.

“Saruhiko! Y-You’ve just blinked, right? Are you awake!?”

Misaki. The true one.

So it would finally come to that moment, huh. He thought he had prepared himself plenty, but turned out it wasn’t even enough.

“Can you hear me!? C-c-ome on, please, open your damn eyes already!”

The weight on him pressed harder, bony fingers digging into his shoulders. Fushimi could hear – the beats in Misaki’s chest, the frantic breaths close to his ears, the soft but broken sobs. The warmth he was feeling was probably a crushing hug. But, there was also something cold and wet running down his cheeks.

Oh.

“... You’re always such a crybaby, Misaki.” He said, exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“S-Saru! Finally…You idiot, f-finally! What took you so fucking _long_?”

Fushimi didn’t answer, but focused on the shorter’s face instead. Vivid, full of emotions as if life itself had crammed into one single entity that was Misaki – his eyes shone with pure relief but everything else twisted into a wretched expression. Fushimi could even hear the crackling, fizzing sounds just underneath the other boy’s skin, and briefly he thought Misaki must be either a volcano eruption or a smouldering fire.

The moment their gaze met, lasting for only a tiny fraction of a second, something inside Fushimi that was so used to be blurred, artificial, illusory, suddenly became sharp and hot and _real_ and _too much and he couldn’t breath._

“Hey? Say something!”

Volcano or fire, either way, he was going to be burnt. It’d be the death of him. Right, he must not forget.

“What do you want me to say?”

To be honest, what he felt for Misaki was a somewhat too awful kind of feeling. A reckless young love that had passed blood and fire, lies and sins, and had grown so strong that it harboured some resentment.                                                                           

“W-Well, like what the fuck happened and what did you dream about? ...Gzee, nevermind, you’ve just woken up, so go rest a little bit more or something?”

It wasn’t like love and hatred were two sides of a coin and they were in the perfect middle, no. It was a mess of loving to hate each other, hating to love each other, loving too much, hating too much, wanting to give up, wanting to cling to, more and more and more - filled to the brim with _something_ beyond even themselves.

“You really are so stupid, Misaki.”

Maybe that was the only thing they had in common, now. He had tried so hard to make it that way.

“Hahhh? What the hell! Why are you being pissy all of a sudden for no reason? I’m just worried about you, can’t you fucking see?”

_So, just hate me a little more, will you?_

“I’d be so much easier if you just hate me with all your heart. Neh, Misaki, it should have been all over by now if you killed me before.”

Misaki breathed out in a rush, horror dragging its darkest shadow on his face. “What…what are you—”

“Idiot, did you really think we have escaped? Nope, we’re still very trapped, and it’s your fault for being so naive.” Fushimi drawled lazily, his words laced with menace. “Despite all the thug getups, you’re such a total softie inside, huh?

“So annoying, ugh, why must you be so goddamned difficult even after all this time? And to think I didn’t like your silence before…” Misaki grumbled deep in his throat, anger starting to boil though it was due to confusion than anything. “I don’t get it. What did I do wrong?”

“I told you, you should have just destroyed all those fake things. But you didn’t, being the dumbass you are.” In the depth of his subconscious, Fushimi heard a cry. Who, who was crying, he did not know. “At this point, only when we kill each other that one of us can get out.”

“…One of us?”

“What do you expect? We’re the real consciousnesses.”

Misaki gritted his teeth and spat on the very idea of it. “No fucking way. It doesn’t even make sense.”

“That’s how it is, Mi-sa~ki. I did it, you know? I killed you. That’s why I could come to this place.” Fushimi smirked. His own words stung and there were chains wrapping around his heart, tightening, tightening gradually. “I killed you in my dream, even more than once, and I would do it again _,_ right here, right now, since apparently that’s what it takes to break out.”

The redhead glared. “…I didn’t wait so long only to fight you, stupid monkey. But of course you did the opposite, hah! Killing the images of me without even thinking twice, even though those dreams were born out of _desire_?”

Fushimi drew the dagger out. It felt terribly natural to spin it around among his fingers. “It’s just who I am, isn’t it? Didn’t you get to taste it first-handed?”

“Bastard… Do you really not care? Do you hate me that much? You just won’t be satisfied until you shit on absolutely everything?””

“Heh, you’re getting there, Misaki.”

“…I waited for you. Don’t you understand? I went through many scenarios that I loved so much but I came to you in the end, even though I’m told that my hope might be going to kill us all.” Misaki trembled. He looked shocked. Betrayed. Broken. “I kept waiting, looking at your unmoving body for fucking forever, praying, hoping that you’d wake up and everything would be fine – and maybe, just maybe, we can…we can be…”

The genuine confession was like a sweet poison. Fushimi hated how it sounded like an empty hope. Hope did not do anything ever. You had to dig your way out yourself, even through lies and blood and tears.

“We’re enemies, nothing more. What’s the hold up, Misaki? That isn’t like you at all.” Fushimi strode forward and flipped the knife. It flashed a sharp gleam, reflecting his own crooked smile.

“… _’isn’t like you at all’_? Now that’s a familiar phrase.” Misaki stepped back a few steps. “You have no right to say that to me. You don’t even know half of me. I never wanted us to be enemies.”

“Hehh? Didn’t you say you hate me? Did you forget your latest _promise_?”

“It wasn’t a freaking _promise_! Are you crazy!? Couldn’t you tell that I always talk shit when I’m angry?”

“If you want to live, kill me. If not, fine, stand still and let me finish the show!”

“Shut up! I do not want to! There must be another way!” Misaki looked mad and confused, alright, but there was something else dancing in his eyes. “Please…” Something that Fushimi did not want to understand, but it hit him unexpectedly hard.

The two of them had been a little dishonest, a little stupid, a little desperate. And maybe just a little lonely, too.

_(There is another way.)_

_(It won’t be possible.)_

“Irritating…”

“Saru…?”

Fushimi shook his head. “Just get on with it, Mi~sa~ki~~ Or I'll kill you for sure!”

He went for the first strike, blue aura pouring from his fingers. Misaki dodged the attack easily and flung himself across the room, increasing the distance between them as much as possible.

“Shitty monkey! Listen to me! I don’t really understand but I’m fucking sure that we could have done something else! My intuition is never wrong!”

Holding the knife tightly until his knuckles felt numb, Fushimi chased after the other. He didn’t mean to mumble out his thoughts, but he did. “Neh, Misaki…I’ve gone this far… how long it must take you to kill me? So stubborn, do you want this to be forever? just, Misaki, kill me, Kill me, Kill ME!”  

_(There is an easier way.)_

_(It’s easier this way.)_

Misaki gritted his teeth, and, for a stunning moment, grabbed Fushimi’s wrist and yanked the knife out of his hands. Before Fushimi could counter, the redhead had already had him pinned to the floor by the throat, amber eyes flashing furious fire.

“That’s it, Misaki, do it. You hate me, don’t you?”

It’d be okay, this way. The connection was there.

What a sad ending for the two of them, but it’d be okay, right?

“Saruhiko, you…”

Don’t cry.

“Come— ”

“You fucking liar.” Misaki growled out like a wounded beast. “I’m not that much of an idiot. Tell me, what’s really going on? ”

“…Didn’t I say—”

“You said you destroyed everything in your dreams. And now you want me to destroy _you_? Just what the fuck happened to you, Saruhiko?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “...Nothing you would understand.”

“…I can see darkness too.” Misaki muttered. “It’s different from yours, but it’s till darkness. I can understand, if you just open up to me. Saruhiko, I told you, I had waited for you to come back. I love you, dumbass, just fucking accept it already! I won’t let you go ever again, no matter what! I don’t care what kind of cards you’re playing, I won’t fall for it anymore!”

Fushimi widened his eyes as Misaki gathered him into a tight embrace. It was warm, and familiar, and loving.

And, really, he didn’t want to let go.

All his thoughts were roaring, biting each other, burning and freezing in a sea of contrasting emotions. It hurt.  

_(Kill me like you promised.)_

_(Keep me in your arms.)_

_(I’m your enemy.)_

_(They say you keep your enemy closer than your friends.)_

_(Look at me, look at who I will become.)_

_(Don’t look at me, don’t look at who I have become.)_

_(I don’t need you in my world anymore.)_

_(I still wish for you to stay by my side.)_

_(Go away.)_

_(Stay.)_

_(Chase after me, fight me, yell at me.)_

_(Remember me.)_

_(I hate you.)_

_(I don’t hate you.)_

_(I hate you.)_

_(I loved you.)_

_(I hate you.)_

_(I still love you.)_

_(I love you.)_

_(Don’t let go of me.)_

_(Misaki.)_

Fushimi pulled himself up, just in time to meet Misaki’s lips in a sad, tearful kiss.

In that single moment, they connected.

_……………………………………………………………………._

_…………………………_

 

_\------------------------------------------------_

_“Good luck!”_

_\-------------------------------------------------_

When he opened his eyes, the first thing Fushimi saw was Munakata smiling at him in the way no copy could ever hope to imitate.

“Welcome back, Fushimi-kun. How was your long dream?”

“Ugh...” His lips parted slightly as he struggled to form words. His voice sounded rusty, a proof that he hadn’t used it for a long time. “I don’t know. My head hurts. It sucks. I refuse paperwork today.”

“I imagine. Please, take a rest. You must be tired, you’ve been through a lot. You may fill in the report later.”

“...”

“Is there something wrong?” Munakata narrowed his eyes just a little bit. “...Fushimi-kun, pardon me for asking. How much can you remember?”

Fushimi turned away to the wall. There was a clock pointing to 9:35 and a calendar showing that the day was April 14th. “I think I did have a dream…But it’s really vague, I can’t recall it at all.”

“Is that so?”

“,,,”

The King smiled slightly and put a hand on Fushimi’s head. “You shouldn’t be crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“How coincidentally, Yatagarasu of Homra, who woke up just a few minutes ago, performed the exactly same behaviours as you. Very curious, isn’t it? Maybe I should pay the Red King a brief meeting.”

“...tsk.”

Munakata was about to say something when several loud crashes resounded from the hall. Apparently, a certain patient was running recklessly in the hospital.

“Oya, it seems like you have a special visitor. Then, I bid you goodbye for the day, Fushimi-kun. I hope you can recall your dream, and from it construct a world that is most suited for you by your own hands.”

Fushimi waited until Munakata was at the door when he raised his voice just a little louder than he normally did. “Two crosslines will only meet once.”

Without missing a beat or even stopping in his track, Munakata threw a smirk over his shoulders. “I do believe that human beings are much complicated than lines on paper.”

The door opened abruptly. Anna poked her head in for a moment to nod contentedly at Fushimi then quietly retreated, leaving the way open for someone else.

And, sure enough, Misaki was there, breathing heavily, lips curling into a bright smile.

“Stupid ass Saruhiko! See!?”

Fushimi closed his eyes and smiled back. “...Shut up, you’re annoying, Misaki.”

Yeah, this way was fine, too.


End file.
